Lost Without Direction

 
Making brush strokes on the road, reading the length of the journey
I make my marks on life, I rearrange the dreaded future

Through the touch of death, I’ve lived forever
Imprisoned by sound and proud of it
Doing my time, drinking the wine
Wishing the pull back in

A loving stare, a rebirth of the other side, wish me wise and live by those words
You have to hurt to make the call

You have to hurt to make the call now